


Unluckiest thieves in the world

by moonfox281



Series: Fumes of our love [11]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Fluff, M/M, Minor Violence, Robbery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:13:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22910797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonfox281/pseuds/moonfox281
Summary: Bryce was calculating through all the chances they got, which awfully narrowed down to zero. They were all tied, bleeding and bruised at some point, and of all things, there was no way on earth would they ever be able to take down this hunk by themselves, not when even a teenager could knock Marty’s nose broken.“Of all the houses in this city, you just have to choose to rob this house.”
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Series: Fumes of our love [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/572455
Comments: 28
Kudos: 260





	1. Chapter 1

Bryce turned on his feet and cut his walk into the bar. Wednesday night, they played Bon Jovi and the old white man with a belly half the size of a hog brought a fancy looking chick in for some games. 

He spotted his guy by the corner right side of the staff door for cargo, a table non with a right mind would take. 

Marty waved him over and passed him his leftover drink of a nine dollar Kentucky Gentleman that tasted even less than its cheap bucks. 

“Bryce, my man.” He tapped the table with his knuckles, barely skin covered bones on the shiny wood. His rings took the hits mostly, cheap fake gold that had faded away through time. Nowadays those things served better of weapons of defence rather than ornaments. Looking at the good side, they did put some extra pounds on Marty’s scrawny punches. 

“What you have for me?”

He looked around. Bright brown eyes dashing around that couldn’t keep as open as they used to back in the days when he was clean. Sure he was clean now, past rehab and shit but for people that once sniffed the joy out of white powder and plumping the high in the blue veins of the arms, with luck they walked out but they never walked out the same. So was Marty.

“I’ve got a deal for us. Big time.” He turned his head around as if someone sober enough this shitty bar cared to eavesdrop on them. 

“A gay couple. 26B Budive street.”

“What the fu-”

“Fifth floor. One door. No neighbor. Barely anyone even livin’ there besides a 70s year old lady on first floor and a hobo on the fourth.”

“That’s fucking Crime Alley. People step over each other's heads for shits no one even wants!”

“Yeah, my shithole is three blocks away from that shithole. I know whatcha thinking-”

“We don’t fucking touch Crime Alley, Marty. For fuck sake, those people are just as broke as us and twice as violent. I bumped on a 60 years old man with a cane walking half a mile down to Bovery once, and he pulled out a fucking Glock on me, Marty. A fucking cane, and a fucking Glock. That was my first try in that stupid neighborhood and I’m smart enough to keep it the last.”

“I get what you mean. I get it, okay?” Marty hushed him down and looked around. “I looked them up, okay? Dudes are loaded as shit. One of them drives a four rings.”

“Bullshit. A man drives an Audi would never live in Crime Alley.”

“But he does, I swear. Good looking fag three times my size walked out of Stevie’s garage in a sleeky 4 rings to fix his plate. I was there by pure change but I remembered his plate, wasn’t everyday Stevie got some real deal like that. And when I walked over Budive, he was there again.”

That sounded bullshit. Bryce had actually trusted Marty on this. He promised them a last play, a big enough game to get them away to Star City and starting over again. 

“Listen, pal.” Bryce sighed, pressing a thumb over his temple. “I know you want it fast. Me too. But can you actually stop and listen to yourself saying all this crap?”

“It ain’t crap, okay. Trust me on this, man. We’ve been together for what? 12 years. We’ve gone through bigger deal than jagging second graded cars before. And I’m tellin’ you this, if we can take this. It ain’t even Star City. Me can move to Metropolis and put up a shop like you’ve always wanted. It’s that big, so please. Give me some faith man, will ya?”

Despite all the pep talk, Bryce wasn’t feeling it at all. 

* * *

They walked a round around Budive street. The block was bigger than Bryce expected. Turned out Crime Alley had changed a lot since the last time he dared to step a foot here. There were more shops by the front, convenience stores and flower shops usually shied from expanding on small streets in the area but now they were wide open for 14 hours a day, more bars and even cafes. The streets were clean of junkies, there were still syringes and tin foles wrapped in the alleys and dumpsters but still, the main streets were looking way better than Bryce imagined. 

To be honest, he wasn’t that surprised. Since the Red Hood took over and red washed the city, everything changed, slowly, but visibly. Every man lurking in the corner under the lamppost were his men now. Even a taxi driver could bear the skull tattoo somewhere on his body. They lived, they came, they did their businesses in this city and not a single soul would like to meddle enough with them to know what shade of red the tattoos had. 

Everybody knew Gotham was Red Hood city now, and he was no Dark Knight. Once you messed up in his city, it wouldn’t be broken bones and trauma of a big bat that hunted you for the rest of a life anymore. There wouldn’t even be any life left. A simple robber, a purse snatched from an old lady, a guy mad shooting in a radio store because the drug was getting the good of him, things that used to be the regulars of Gotham city now turned life lessons on past tense and pushed the GCPD found containers filled with barrels of acid and whosoever bodies dissolved inside.

Gotham wasn’t becoming a different city, but it’s slowly peeling its old cover.

“No sign of the husband?”

Bryce pulled down his glasses and watched as Marty pulled his chair and threw the papers he never read down the table.

“Not a single. He hadn’t been back for 5 days. The other haven’t been out since I started. Either he’s not there or his body must have rotten in the bathroom.”

“You sure there’s 2 of them?”

“Fuckin’ sure. Dudes lookin hot enough to bring a heat stroke. I ain’t gay but I ain’t blind either.”

“What about the kid?”

“In and out like clockwork. School probably, 17 tops. Not small but we can take him.”

Bryce drummed fingers on the wheel. Was it a risk? Yes, it was, but so was every other job they took.

He suck in a breath. He didn’t like it, but Marty was right, he needed this. Next week the building will cut his power, and by the end of this month if he couldn’t afford the rent he was going to get kicked out soon. 

“We go by 3.” 

“Yes! Bro,” Marty hit his back. “We got this bro.”

“Listen, we go by 3. Make it 30. Longer than that, we’re out. You understand me?”

“Crystal clear bro.”

“They have a chimney line. We make a drop and move in 20 minutes. There’re only a kid, an old lady and a hobo. They should be out soon.”

* * *

They followed the plan. Half an hour to three o’clock, Marty made a drop of mini gas bomb down the chimney system. It was homemade good, a fine batter of whatever the heck Marty got on hand with 50 bucks of bribery to the pharmacy delivery guy. Despite his look, Marty packed an 8 years knowledge of pharmaceutical products and stimulants, half thanked to his addiction. Bryce knew he knew what to do. So when Marty was busy climbing down from the roof by the drainage, he sat in the van clocking down the minutes until his phone chimed and made a move. 

He pulled down the mask and draped his backpack over his shoulder, going in by front door. This was how they always went. The more frank and forthright it was, the less evidence they left, and the harder for the cops to catch them. 

As expected, Marty didn’t find outer wires for the emergency alarm. A building like this in a neighborhood like Crime Alley, the best anyone lived in could do was putting out some extra penny on a second lock, or on a Glock. 

It didn’t take much time for him to pick the lock, standard drop bolt, nothing he hadn’t had too many experiences with. With the right tools and in the right hands, It was barely 3 minutes until all the bolts latched opened with a delicious click. For someone so used to breaking in mid-high-level citizens, to Bryce, having the lock opened without ringing the alarm was halfway done of a mission. 

Rich people are stupid, well, at least in how they overvalued their security systems that mostly lied 90% on the front door lock and alarm. Most would believe how all locks were stupidly easy to pick if get to learn how to work the way in. 

Bryce sucked in a breath and pulled out a pouch mirror attached to a selfie stick through the mail hole and swirled it around. 

There was an alarm box, old school, dirty, no light. Marty said there was no line. His bet that they were good to go.   
  


The condo was what anyone could expect from Crime Alley, bathetic and shabby, looking somehow even worse than the shithole Bryce was staying. The walls were moldy and the paint had peeled off leaving nothing but a ragged cover over red naked bricks. Down the floor were all kinds of stains dried out, blackened. 

It was cleaner than Bryce had first expected. However the condition of the building, it showed signs of frequent maintenance, or maybe because it was mainly deserted that cleaning out wasn’t much of a pain. 

Marty close to his back, putting on a gas mask. Smoke was coming out of the first door they passed, that would be the old lady landlord’s. 

Marty came knocking on her door. No reply. His face showed all the pride on his new formula. 

They went straight upstair. Up to the last, there was only one door. One, for the whole floor. 

Marty was right. They really must get something under the bed to cover a whole floor of a condo like this.

Smoke came out through the door gap, enough of a doze for even a medical surgery. Waiting for no time, he got his hands right on the lock. 

“What’s the problem?” 

Marty went out of patience when Bryce took a longer time than usual with the door lock. 

“What’s wrong man?”

“Quiet!” Bryce hissed. “This… I can’t open it.”

“What do you mean you can’t open it?”

“It means what it fucking means!”

He hadn’t seen anything like this before, and Bryce had seen through a lot of locks. Lots of a lot. He had always possess a special fascination on locking devices inherent from his psychotic father. He was also a thieve but he was never a half as good picker as he was. The ever good he did to Bryce was giving him a lock pick set.

“Come on, man. You’ve picked your way out of juvie for fun. This is no hard shit, man.”

“Just be fucking quiet and let me think.”

Most common locks had pins in alignment with different designs. Pushing all those pins into a set lock and the bolt would snap open. Easy peasy. Despite most believe, the design of locks on market didn’t affect their mechanism at all, they all functioned relatively the same. 

But not this one. Pushing the first pin, it fitted in, no big deal. Pushing the second one, the first one snap back. Pushing the first back and going on the third, the second one snapped back. It was an anti-theft device. 

Bryce bit his lips and put his backpack down. He pulled out a pair of stethoscopes and listened.

“Dude, we’re running out of time.”

“Quiet.”He tried with the lock again and turned the doorknob. Three clicks. Three bolts. That was strange. Most standard locks had two bolts top, this one got three. With this many bolts, even if he managed to snap all the pins in place, there was a certain pattern in turning the lock to unfold the whole three set. 

This was a very high-quality low maintenance anti-theft device.

If normal, he should do the most sensible thing and turned on his heels, leaving. They had taken too much time at the door, and the longer they spent, the riskier the situation turned. People gave different reactions on the same doze. Marty promises an hour, but Bryce must follow the compensation theorem.

“Can you work on it?”

Heaving a sigh, Bryce decided. “Yes. Give me 10 minutes.”

Despite the lock, Bryce was more drone toward knowing what was hidden behind this door. 

* * *

Inside the place was, as expected, way larger than both Marty and Bryce had imagined. What they didn’t expect though, was how boldly contrast it was to the rest of outside. Somehow, the apartment looked both luxurious, and not. 

The living room had a vintage breath in it, lots of brown and orange, woods and plant pots. Not really modern, but rather quite homie. 

Marty walked around, whistled when he circled around the kitchen and said. “Look at this.” 

He came over a cabinet and fetched out from a plate on top a watch. “Looking pretty sleek.”

Bryce grinned. “Name?” He pulled out his phone.

“Hold on. Auto...no, Audemars Piguet? I can’t spell”

“Searching.” His smile kept on growing once he found a result matched with the one Marty was holding. “What the... I'm hallucinating? It says over 200 grand.”

“The fuck? This watch? That much? What the actual fuck?”

They made around the living room. Like all other rich people, the couple littered lots of expensive shit around the house like they weren’t worth half a penny. Five minutes lifting around the room and they got two watches, a bracelet, couples of earrings and three hundred twenty five dollar and three cents cash. 

Bryce’s stomach turned a little, thinking about why someone with this much money decided to set a place in Crime Alley. There was certainly something out of the ordinaries here. Unlike any other household, there were more than two doors. There were five. 

Bryce and Marty did a rock paper scissor in choosing which one they should go in first. In the end they chose the closest one, a fine dark wood door with a gold doorknob. Like the rest of the house, the door had its humble way of showing its class through more than just a first look.

Marty turned on the knob and frowned. “It’s locked.”

“Try the other one.”

They moved to the next. This one, fortunately, opened easily. 

The walls inside were covered with red and green of football posters. Right in the middle of the room down the floor were a bunch of twisted clothes, sport magazines and dirty socks. Right on the desk by the window was an open laptop.

“This is the son’s room.”

Bryce turned, and found the bed empty. “So where’s the son?”

“The son is right here.”

Bryce snapped back just in time to see the kid sucker punched Marty right in the face and sent him down the floor like a sack of flour. 

“Shit!” 

He went over and pushed the kid away from Marty, catching his arm in time before another punch landed on his face.

Not small but we can take him, he said. Now the one down on the floor groaning with blood running nose was Marty, and the one pulling every damn muscle to wrestle with the kid was Bryce. 

With luck, he managed to push the kid to lose his footing and thrash him to the corner. He got back up quick enough, looked at Bryce with burning eyes like wanting to eat him alive, and honestly, Bryce was half shocked half scared shitless. 

He stepped a foot ahead and Bryce was holding every nerve he got for an attack, until he stopped. He just stopped. 

He looked at Bryce with a different experience than before. The fists by his legs loosened, and it took too long for Bryce to realize and understand, he wasn’t looking at him. He was looking behind him.

In a second, his blood had all run cold. Bryce counted on the beating of his heart turning around shaking on every breath. 

There was a man in nightwear not two steps away from his back. He stared at Bryce. Bright unrealistic blue eyes glowed and reflected his image like a mirror. 

Frozen, his system was struck dazed then alive with panic and fear and the next thing he knew, Bryce was throwing punches at the guy. 

He never made it to his skin, not even to his shirt. The guy moved like a fish under water, he dodged every time Bryce’s muscle jumped for the next attack as if reading his body better than Bryce’s himself. He couldn’t grab after the flight of his hair, he danced on his feet, turn and and turn and turn and the next thing Bryce knew, his neck ate in a jab that froze his blood flow. 

The man didn’t say a word, just locked those sapphire blues on Bryce when he came down on his knees heaving. 

Behind his back, Marty curled on the floor shaking in his own blood under a baseball bat the kid held pushing down his neck. 

“Y-you...” He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do. By now it was as clear as daylight he couldn’t beat this guy.

“I’m what?” He finally spoke. 

Bryce went speechless. He looked so unfazed, not even a flinch on the pretty stainless face. He looked through Bryce’s shoulder, shrugged.

“You did better than your friend.” His voice never once breached the bar of a murmur.

Marty on his back, cried in sheepish little choke. Under the kid’s bat, he looked smaller than a rat. The kid swiped his hair up, glared back at Bryce, and all his blood ran cold. 

“Please,” Pleade. That was all Bryce could think of in a second. “We didn’t take anything.”

“Take?” He cocked his head aside and looked toward the door. “You broke the lock.”

He suddenly smiled. It was supposed to be a pretty smile, all red lips, white teeth and dimpled cheek, but in this situation, on his knees with Marty groaning behind his back, Bryce was once again scared shitless.

“How fascinating.” 

Stop. Stop smiling. Stop coming any closer. 

“John, you know what to do.”

To Bryce’s horror, the kid’s toothy grin spread. He marched over toward him, confident steps shadowed over Marty’s body and imprinted down the floor.

“Wa-wait wait!”

He swung his bat, and everything went dark.

* * *

Bryce didn’t know what woke him up, but it was a headache that welcomed him first. Then came the memories, then the anxiety. It was the chilling moment one realized they had lost consciousness in an uncontrollable amount of time not knowing what had been done in the shadow. 

His first reaction was to thrive up. Only then he recognized the ropes squeezed around his body, unmoveable. He was tied up on a chair, chest to toe, securely, professionally. He couldn’t even wriggle his toes without breaking a sweat. 

Marty sat right by his side, still dead to the world. His friend was the least to consider.

Bryce balled his eyes staring at the four white war covered on square holed fencing nets of rifles, short guns, magazines and so many more. Straight on his vision, pridefully displayed was a collection of military knives in different shapes and sizes. Taking one third of the wall were cases of hand grenades, a bazooka laid upside down by the corner. A fucking bazooka. 

Adrenaline flood to his systems. It pumped and beat like trying to escape. His eyes went dry, lacking the needing blinks swiping across the room in circular motions. His mind went white for a second, maybe even longer. 

Sweat rolled cold on his forehead, down his cheeks. He turned and called Marty awake. He couldn’t bear handling this fear alone. 

“Marty. Oi, dude.”

With a groan, Marty shook awake. Too late though, Bryce’s friend was still on way to come to his senses when he caught the sound of a door snapped open and close.

He held his breath listening to each thump of steps coming down. Through the ring in his ears and overbeating of his heart, Bryce expected the same man who took them down to walk in the room. It was not.

“You two wake up just in time.”

It was a large man in every term of speaking. His chest buffed out and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, stretched as if threatening to be torn apart. He was covered in scars and tattoos. His face was the least of generosity. His bushy short beard covered his chin and lightened the sharpness of his eyes. A white scar crossed over one thick brow. 

“Who...” Bryce murmured. By his side, Marty hyperventilated. “That’s the neighbor.” 

There was no word to cover the shock rose in Bryce. Marty said it was a hobo. This was no hobo, this dude looked like a fucking mercenary. 

The man pulled a folded chair out from the corner and sat down opposite from them. Knees spread and back hunched forward. 

“So, story time.” He huffed. “Start talking.”

Bryce and Marty looked at each other. A million things ran through their heads. 

“Look man, we can sort this out.” was Marty’s first reaction. Consider the blank expression they received back, clearly this wasn’t sorting at all.

“We didn’t take anything.”

They got back a raise of eyebrows. At least it was something.

“Lo-look, you can take our bags. There’s nothing there but a couple of watches and some cash. I swear, we didn’t touch anything.” 

“Oh I looked through your bags.” The man grinned.

“What?”

“I looked through your bags. I’ve also checked your van, the pipe needs to be cleaned by the way. And I’ve sorted through your clothes. Very cute toy by the way.” He picked up a gas ball inside Marty’s bag.

Next to Bryce, Marty had gone speechless. Bryce was calculating through all the chances they got, which awfully narrowed down to zero. They were all tied, bleeding and bruised at some point, and of all things, there was no way on earth would they ever be able to take down this hunk by themselves, not when even a teenager could knock Marty’s nose broken. 

Bryce scanned again all over the wall, the weapons, the guns, the white light bulb. 

“Of all the houses in this city, you just have to choose to rob this house.”

He was grinning this time. Grinning and huffing and crossing one leg over the other knee. “Please,” Bryce started begging again. “We didn’t touch anything, we didn’t even touch the kid!”

“Oh you better not.”

From the stair walked down the same man had beaten both Bryce and Marty into the room. Different from the neighbor, he made no sound from his steps, still dressed in his nightwear when they first saw him with only with an extra robe on. 

“You don’t have to come down.” Said the neighbor when he shot on his feet and saved the chair for him.

“I don’t trust you and my husband. He’s on his way back isn’t he?”

“Coming at any minute.”

“Why are you two always like this.” He dragged the words out in design of a whispery complaint. Not once did the tone of his voice pass a quiet subdued barrier but something about the way he talked or the way he casted those magnetic blues down Marty and Bryce occured them to believe he was the one in control. 

There were two things that hit Bryce first when taking a good look of this man. One, there was no way this person could be the father of the kid whose bedroom they had broken in. Brother, cousin, uncle, maybe. But not father. No way. And secondly, he was Dick fucking Grayson. And Dick fucking Grayson was dropdead gorgeous. A very clean, easy to memorize face with soft bone structure and plumpy lips. Even in the heat of fear, each time he bat his eyes, thick long lashes fluttered and distracted Bryce off his thoughts.

He was what sick guys on the street catcalled to shame because they feared how he could lay all the girls and make them question their own sexual orientation at the same time. 

“So, which one of you picked the lock of my front door?” He crossed his legs and started making questions.

Bryce sucked in a breath and answered. “It was me.”

“It wasn’t some easy lock to pick wasn’t it?”

“It wasn’t.”

“How long did it take you.”

Marty turned to look at him, shaking his head. Of fucking course Bryce was scared shitless too, but his instinct told him better entertain these people with the truth rather than lies. 

“16 minutes.”

“I’m impressed. It took me longer.” When caught the surprise on Bryce’s face, he laughed. “You can’t expect to build a good lock without knowing how to pick one.”

“Who are you people?”

“Well that’s a very interesting question that my husband would love to dive in.” He dragged the “love” out. There was something about his lazy nature that made Bryce feel uncomfortable. 

Speaking of it, why on earth would a neighbor be this much into someone else’s business?

“Dad!”

There was a shout from somewhere upstair. Quick enough, the kid whose room they walked in ran down. 

“He’s calling.” He handed over a phone for his dad, taking one swift look over Bryce and Marty. 

“Put it on speaker for me, John.” He smiled. The phone was handed over for the neighbor and he pressed it by his head. He kept acting like a servant. “Jason?”

“Are you and John okay?” 

It was a very loud voice. 

“Are you an idiot?”

“Okay, then are the thieves okay?”

Bryce and Marty looked at each other. Scared couldn’t even convey how they felt.

“They’re not dead yet.”

Yet he said, what the hell did yet mean?

“John, chump, do me a favor and get daddy back in bed. He still needs another week.”

The kid turned to his dad and shrugged. “Told you he’d say that.”

Immediately, the neighbor kneel down on one knee and pulled Grayson’s shirt up around his torso. 

Boy, that boy was really something, in and out.

“No internal bleeding.” 

“Of course. Who do you think they are, Deathstroke?”

One didn’t just simply use Deathstroke as a comparison image. Especially not Gotham Darling Dick Grayson.

His neighbor tucked his shirt back in, padded his thigh and posed as if ready to put Grayson on a bridal carry. The face Grayson made at the gesture was equally disturbed as Marty’s and Bryce’s.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting you back to bed?”

“Jesus Christ. Get the hell up before I step on your feet.” Grayson waved a finger at his son. “Jason would want a word with these two. You and Jeff stay here, don’t toy with them, and wait until Dad comes back, okay?”

Kid nodded. He rounded his eyes looking at his father like he was a golden statue sent from God. Just a moment ago he was still waving his bat threatening to beat Marty’s brain into a mush.

Grayson was about to turn to the stair, but stopped. He ruffled the kid’s head, kissing his hair.

“You did good today, kiddo.”

When they all turned away, occupied with their own world, Bryce couldn’t help and turned over to spit his anger at Marty.

“You didn’t say we’re robbing the house of Dick fucking Grayson!”

Marty blinked. “Who the fuck is Dick fucking Grayson?”

“Have you been living under a rock, Gotham Darling, world top hottest bachelor, Bruce Wayne’s fucking oldest son.”

“Ei, I can’t even remember how Bruce Wayne looks like.”

Bryce groaned. He really shouldn’t have listened to Marty and came here.

“Be fucking civilized and read the fucking news sometimes.” 

* * *

About half an hour later, someone came down from the stair. As possible as it was impossible, it was even a bigger man than Grayson’s neighbor, and equally handsome as Grayson himself.

The guy was a beast. And it didn’t take Bryce’s brain to gear up to find out it was Grayson’s husband of all people.

He nailed each step toward Bryce’s and Marty’s seats as if bringing thunder down the ground. He reeked liquors of all types Bryce didn’t know. Stuck on his three pieces tailored suit was the tangy bitterness of cigarette tar. Nonetheless, he looked completely sober.

There wasn’t a single sign on his well defined features that was tiresome. On the contrary, his grey blue eyes burnt alive and marked a few more ages on his young face, unnervingly stared straight at Bryce. This man had gone through wars and in those eyes, the war hadn’t ended yet. 

“Gentlemen.”

His voice was a lower level of a dark deep tone, raspy like a growl echoed back to the mouth of a deep dark cave. 

Grayson’s husband looked at them dead from the crisscross of his fingers. He was a good looking beast, with arms bigger than Bryce’s head. A good looking dude with luck and fortune marrying just another filthy rich good looking dude. 

What a life.

“Sorry for the wait. What time is it?”

The neighbor checked his watch. “Five fifty.”

Grayson’s husband washed a hand over his face. “Should have waited til morning. Now I can’t have any sleep.”

“You’re taking little John to school today?”

“I went home. Yeah, I’m taking him today. You can tell Trevor he can sleep out some more.”

“I can take him for today if you don’t mind.”

“You should be the one who minds.” He laughed. “No, indulge Dick until I get back, see if anything else is missing.”

Bryce immediately jumped in. “We didn’t take anything...else.”

His eyes turned back on Bryce, and immediately Bryce regretted ever opened his mouth.

“We… we only take a few accessories and some cash, that’s all.”

The man turned to his neighbor and he confirmed it with a nod. 

“What did you take in specific, I want to hear it from you.”

He, just like Grayson, didn’t need to raise the volume of his voice to bring the room in tension. Bryce looked over Marty, whose brain had practically frozen at this time. Marty had always been more about hands than nerves. Bryce was just glad he didn’t literally pissed himself.

“Two watches, a bracelet and some earrings.”

“Ah shit.” The neighbor murmured.

Bryce’s blood rushed to his head at full speed. What did he mean by shit, what did he said wrong? 

“You touched my husband’s bracelet and earrings.” was what Grayson’s husband said. 

He got up, walked around on his feet. There was a certain way in how he peddled around the room with buttons open, hands in the pocket, eyes looking around that remind Bryce of a lone wolf in action.

“I only gave him two bracelet ever in my life, one by wool which we made at a fun fair together, and the other with star diamonds and black gold which I purchased for him at a Buccellati boutique in Palo Alto. It was my gift to him, on our third anniversary, which if I remember correctly, costed me over $16,000. Now I don’t wish that you two would be idiot enough to take the first one.”

Bryce lost his senses further on. He could only make out two things when facing those cold eyes. One, the top tier world these people were living in turned out to be much beyond Bryce's imagination. And two, he was god damn sure they both gonna be dead tonight, if not mention right now. 

Bryce would dig out of his own grave after this to fix his tombstone to “died over 9 grand” if any bastard left it as “died over a male bracelet”.

“I hate to clean the basement, Dick never really wants his hands on the cleaning of my cleaning.” GIn Bryce’s biggest fear, he rounded at the back and grabbed one of the many guns on the rag. A go back with a silver handgun and pushed it down the top of Marty’s head.

“No no no no!!!” Marty shouted, Bryce shouted. The neighbor got tired and went palming Marty’s mouth with his hand. 

“Wait wait wait, please. Wait!” Bryce panicked. “Don’t kill him, just… don’t kill him. We can… we can help you.”

“Help me like what?”

“Boss?” The neighbor asked, hand off Marty’s mouth. Marty immediately sucked in a lungful, gasping.

“He’s the best lock picker in the country. Best I’ve ever met.”

Thank God Marty’s brain was functioning again.

“Yes, I’ve picked locks through basically everything in this world, and this guy?” He tilted his chin at Marty. “He’s the best at mixing you’re not gonna find another like him.”

Words had been around, of course it had. In a city like Gotham where social class tension got heavier than anywhere else, people lived on gossips. Words had been around that Wayne’s biggest boy had been wedded off to a big name in the underworld, big enough that he had guards up his ass twenty four seven even to the toilet.

Based on what Marty and Bryce caught themselves in, maybe rumors weren’t always rumours. They were facts that got winded up for extra effects. At this point, Gotham Darling probably wedded an assassin and Marty and Bryce just jumped right into their house.

The trigger wasn’t pulled. Marty was very much alive. Good news. Bad news? That terrifying man was staring at Bryce like watching a zoo monkey. 

“You’re the one that broke my lock.”

Yes, that lock was one hell of a thing in Bryce’s life, but couldn’t they just stop bringing it.

“That’s me.”

“Impressive, I might say.”

“I can build you a new one. An uncrackable one.”

He raised his brows. “Is that so?”

This was Bryce’s chance. This was his big ass chance to survive. “Yes, I can build one for you right now.”

“We’ll see.”

The man motioned something to his neighbor, and he lifted Marty up on his feet, cut his robe with a pocket knife in his boot. 

“You,” He pointed at Marty. “You’ll have a tasting with Jefferson over here.”

The neighbor “Jefferson” turned and grabbed Marty's neck, physically dragged him up the stairs and shut the door close. 

Left alone with Grayson’s husband, Bryce was suddenly desperate to grab on one of the guns in the room and shoot himself in the mouth. Of course there was no way he could fight this hunk, he could physically knock Bryce out with a slap.

“Now, about that lock.” 

He walked over right to Bryce’s face, grinned like a shark had tasted blood. And Bryce just saw red.

“Let’s see if your lives are worth my time.”

* * *

When Jason crawled to bed, Dick was already smiling before he spooned him.

“I smell blood on you.”

Jason rubbed his nose on Dick’s neck, breathed in. “Um, I think you and Beast might be relatives.”

“Did you kill any of those poor boys?”

“Me? No, what are you thinking? I'm not a barbarian.” 

Jason flipped Dick on his back and crawled over him, flopped down his stomach. “Pet me, I didn’t kill anyone today.”

Dick laughed out loud and ran his fingers through his hair. Jason just couldn’t help and lift his shirt up and kiss his stomach. 

“Are we gonna get any decent sleep now that our lock is broken?” Dick murmured on. “Our security sucks, turns out.”

“What security, you’re the security.”

Dick pinched Jason’s ear until he whined complaints. 

“I can’t believe some kid actually broke through our lock. Even though he wired over dozens of our alarms and set me awake the moment he touched the sensor box downstairs, that lock was supposed to stay.”

“Don’t worry, he’s building on a new one for us.”

“He?”

Jason locked up from where he laid. “The kid that broke our lock. Hey, I checked the gas balls, they were quite something. Why aren’t you, John and Jefferson wiped. Mrs. S is clearly shooting planes in dreamland now.”

“Jeff was awake at that time. And you really think a ball that size wouldn’t have woke me? It was like an apple.”

Jason had literally seen Dick’s ears jerked in his sleep over a pin dropped down the floor. He didn’t even know why he still made that question. 

“Weird kids, aren’t they. They really sorted this all through but only to rob. If Slade breaks in, he’d be asking for your neck.”

“Only if a divorce comes in, or you stamp me as abusive. By the way, the abusive one in this marriage is you, honey. I still remember that time you threw the meat grinder at me over a few million dollars. You need to stop bringing Wilson in as your personal leverage.”

“Alright, sensitive.” Dick snickered. “But tough kids, aren’t they? I see a smarter one in the two, the spokesman.”

“Yeah, tough my ass. They screamed like scout girls, I only scared them a little.” Considering Dick’s roll of the eyes, he wasn’t buying Jason’s words. “And the other one, yeah, real witty that one. Can’t believe I have to put a bullet through his leg to get him serious.”

Dick balled his eyes, glared down. He pulled on Jason’s hair, painfully. “You did what?”

“Ouch, shouldn’t have said that. Ouch!”

In the end, they did get a new lock. The other kid turned out to have one hell of a tongue, he made some crazy formulas over a night. It didn’t take that much work to check their IDs, both were in their 20s, living not so far from Crime Alley, had quite a long history of in and out of juvies and jails over pickpocket, breakin and carjacking. 

The lock breaker got patched up by Jason’s private surgeon, he let them go by the morning. Next day, Dick decided to be extra creepy knocking on their door in broad daylight with meatloaf and mushroom soup, explaining how bad of a behaviour shooting someone bordering on a panic attack was. And Jason was pretty sure both of their thieves must have thought Jason was some kind of hitman working right under the Red Hood, especially after Jefferson taking the other right into one of his bases for a drug taste. 

But, overall, they got a new lock. Jason got the sleep he desired for the rest of the day. Dick took John out for football practice and nothing could mess up with their peaceful lives.


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, many of you readers have show interest in my choice of the couple jewelry and accessories, so I've made an extra chapter just to show how all their belongings in this story look like.

  * **Jason's Audemars Piguet watch: Audemars Piguet royal oak tourbillon Red edition**



Link: <https://www.audemarspiguet.com/en/watch-collection/royal-oak-concept/26587TI.OO.D067CA.01/>

Price: starting at $204,400

  * **Dick's bracelet: Buccellati Macri Classica cuff bracelet with Diamonds, 18K Black Gold**



Link: <http://buccellati.com/en/jewelry/icona/macri-classica/macri-classica-cuff-bracelet>

Price: $16,500

And since Jason's marriage band had rarely ever come up, so I decided to visualize it for you guys by a close to be image of it, here is how it looks like:

  * **Jason's marriage band: 18K Black gold with White Diamonds, Grandidierite and 1 carat Red Diamond (just change the color of the stone in the middle to red, and few other smaller around to blue)**




End file.
